The Seven Gates of Hell
by Tib Dunncan
Summary: Dib only wanted to prove himself to his fellow agents, and figured there would be no better opportunity than when Agent SkunkApe handed him the Network's main case: an investigation into a house that is thought to be one of the seven entrances to Hell.
1. Chapter 1

Dib shivered. The room was kept cold to counteract the fact that the occupants were packed like sardines, though he felt they overdid it tonight with the air conditioning - it had to be sixty degrees in there. He pulled the trenchcoat closer around his chest as he looked up at Agent SkunkApe, who was readying to make her announcement. Dib stood at the front of the crowd because he was so small, hardly half the height of the next shortest Agent there. But then again, he was only eleven. He still had a lot of growing to do, and his fellow Agents understood that, looking past youth and seeing him for his true talent and ambition. In the Swollen Eyeballs Network, he wasn't Dib Membrane, local nut job and outcase; he was Agent Mothman, respected paranormal investigator... for the most part. He was still reedeeming his name in the network after an incident involving Zim.

"Welcome, fellow agents." SkunkApe addressed the crowd. Though the light was low, as usual, Dib could see her oversized sunglasses under her long, bubblegum pink hair. She always looked exactly the same at every meeting. "Among the devout and the inquisitive, there are a few theories that share many characteristics in both fields - fields which rarely share any notions due to a small rivalry in belief. As I'm sure many of you are aware, the most prominent of these stories tell of the Seven Gates of Hell; entrances on the Earth Plane that lead to the land of the damned. The research shows that five of the seven Gates have been discovered, with two Gates left for the taking. A small taskforce of Agents now believes that they have successfully located the sixth entrance. However, there is a potentially problematic issue: It is reported that those who have ignored the warning tales have simply..." Her voice faded off as she searched the faces of the crowd, though how she could see them was a mystery to all. A small smile came to her lips as she pulled the right term from her wordbank. "...disappeared. Due to this interesting observation, we've found that we can not send the Agents who have discovered this. On the contrary, each and every one of you are Field Agents, and therefore are permitted to volunteer your time to investigate the interesting paranormal phenomena that takes place at this house."

Dib gaped. "A house? The sixth Gate of Hell is a _house_?"

"Precisely, Agent Mothman," SkunkApe said, looking down on him with a smile. "A house; one that's been the center of many campfire ghost stories for some time, that resides at the end of a lost dirt road that leads just north of here."

"A haunted house, one of the Gates of Hell? You said it yourself, it's the center of campfire ghost stories! You can't be taking it seriously."

"Quite the contrary, Agent. Some of our best have thouroughly investigated the matter, and I assure you, we're quite certain that this is the fifth entrance." SkunkApe repeated calmly.

"What proof is there?" he asked, unrelenting.

"No proof, Agent, other than shrewd conclusions and the disappearences of four Mid-L Skool students."

"Disappearneces? Kids are disappearing in this town every day!"

SkunkApe's voice betrayed her composed features with a tone of annoyance. "Perhaps you would like to be given the assignment, Agent Mothman?" she asked. This boy, as bright as he could be, was far too opinionated. A fine dose of intimidation would shut him up.

Immediately, the boy's face lit up. "Really?" he asked, his voice brimming with excitement. "Yes! I accept the assignment, Agent SkunkApe, and I'll prove that it's nothing more than a Campfire story!" Without hesitation, he ran up the steps and across the stage to take the case file from his superior. She handed them to him in a stunned silence, her mouth hanging open slightly at the event that just took place. She couldn't be handing this case to the youngest member of the society... it went against all logic. Not only were there more deserving agents, Agents who had been with the Network longer, but there were far more experienced Agent. Not to say that Dib was incompetent, but surly there were far more competent Agents who would be more suitable for the case. But she'd offered him the job. She'd handed him the case - metaphorically and physically, as she felt the manilla folder slip from her fingertips.

SkunkApe's voice was hesitant, as she was still recovering from the shock of her mistake. "Angent Mothman... are you sure you want to accept this case? Take into consideration the possiblibty that you're wrong about the house. Perhaps it truely is one of the Gates of Hell. Are you sure you're up to the challenge?" she asked, interrupting Dib's happy, "This is a dream come true!" He turned on the spot and looked Agent Skunkape in the lense. "Without a doubt." he said sternly. He was eager to redeem him name, eager to prove himself to his superiors.

The Agent at the Podium merely nodded. "If you require assistance, alert me, Agent Mothman, and I'll have a backup team at your beck and call."

Dib gave a prefunctory nod before darting back off of the stage, gathering his things as Agent Skunkape addressed the crowd. "Well..." she started, the tone of ease still apparent in her voice. "Well, everyone, wish Agent Mothman luck. We'll see you all at the Halloween Network Party...That is all. Drive safely. Goodnight." She sad, dazed, before retreating from the stage herself.

The Agents all filed out of the convention room out into the parking lot, where all but Dib started their drive home. The young agent hailed a taxi cab, since his father was too busy that night to come pick him up. It was like that msot nights, but he didn't mind. Moreover, he was used to it. So long as his father administered the correct amout of allowance each week, Dib was more than capable of taking care of himself.

In hindsight, it was actually fortunate that his father didn't keep tabs on him. Otherwise, Dib was certain, he would not be able to go to half the meetings the Network held, nor would he be able to take up the case he'd just been assigned.

Now, granted, he would have to wait until the weekend to preform his duties, but it gave him something to look foward to during the skoolday. Something besides his main objective of survival, of course. That week, his classmates had taken to throwing rocks at him while he studied. Some had even gotten brave and begun throwing live animals at him. He'd returned home quite often, lately, with an angry lizard attatched to him, or clawmarks on his face. Yesterday, one even threw a snake at him. What it would be today, he thought as he sat alone on the brick wall fence on the playground, was a mystery. It couldn't possibly get worse than the snake. A sick smile twisted his lips at this.


	2. Chapter 2

It was Friday. Finally, beautiful Friday. After the next two hours in this prison, skool would be out for the weekend. Agent TunaGhost was picking him up straight from skool and driving him and his equipment to the property formerly belonging to a small family that had been murdered in the home some time ago, the Mythes. In two hours, he would once again be Agent Mothman. But for now, he was Dib Membrane.

He tucked his feet underneath him as he sat on the brick wall, hunched over slightly to block the sun from glaring off of the stark white pages of his book. It was an unusual read for him - one that he'd found in his father's stack of things to be rid of. But the picture on the front had caught his attention, for his father rarely busied himself with human anatomy. Unless he was embarking on an experiment that specifically included the human body, Professor Membrane found it a useless subject. Dib, on the other hand, was intrigued by the portrayal of a cloth-covered corpse, which donned a yellow toe-tag that read "STIFF".

And he had to admit, taking the book from the pile had been a great decision. Upon reading the footnote at the bottom of the page he was on, the boy was racked with laughter so hard he almost fell off the wall. He hadn't laughed for a while, he realized. Funny how it'd been a book, to get him to laugh.

There was a small sound. Just one. But it was that small sound that he heard through his laughter that made him realize the absence of all others. Slowly, his joy died in his chest as he looked up expecting to see that the class had begun to make their way back into the classroom. Instead, he was met with the concerned, disgusted glares of forty two children. Forty two children who were disgusted to see him enjoying himself for once.

Silently, he looked away from his classmates, though he could feel them still staring at him, some shaking their heads in disapproval, others sneering and muttering nasty slurs. Something was welling up in his chest. Dejection? Hate? Self-loathing?

His thoughts stopped there. He would not allow himself to hate the same way the other kids did. He would not allow treat himself as they did.

Choking back this impending feeling, he marked his place in the book that he would not touch again, and hopped off of the wall, his head held high as he marched back into the classroom before Ms. Bitters had the chance to call them.

He stuffed the wretched book back into his backpack as he sat at his desk, sitting up straight, hands folded neatly in front of him on the marked-up laminate wood-substitute. The clock reported forty five minutes before skool let out. Forty five minutes for him to realize that he'd been wrong.

Today had been worse than the snake.

The only thing that snapped him out of his thoughts was the harsh buzzing of the skool bell and the noisy scramble of children making a break for it - crawling out of every orifice of the building and screaming as if it were on fire. He, however, took up his backpack and walked calmly to the car-rider zone, where Agent TunaGhost's small blue car was waiting, just as she'd promised.

He got in, quickly, wanting to get out of there before anyone had the chance to notice him there. Normally, he and Gaz would walk home and avoid most people. Today, however, he was surrounded by the very people who despised him so much. The two Agents exchanged quick greetings, Agent TunaGhost telling Dib to buckle up before taking off out of the parking lot, finally headed towards his assignment.

Mothman and TunaGhost sat in the small car together in complete silence. What bothered him the most, though, was that he couldn't even see her face - he couldn't tell what she was thinking. It was that way the entire trip, which eventually brought them away from the bustling city that both of them lived in, to the wild, overgrown countryside. The car pulled into a blind dirt driveway enclosed by mossed-over trees and thickets, which, after driving another couple of miles into the untamed property, gave way to a large clearing, in the foreground of which stood a monumental house that looked like its Victorian architecture had seen better days. Moss and other unidentifiable greens seemed to be strangling the wooden structure, which in itself didn't seem all too stable.

Dib jumped out of Agent TunaGhost's car, pulling the tote of equipment after him. He looked up to thank the Agent, only to be met with a concerned look. Under her gaze, he muttered a thanks, more timid than he'd wanted. He was afraid he'd seemed ungrateful for the ride. After all, she'd just driven him twenty miles from his skool to the Mythe's. The boy heaved the bag over his shoulder and stared at his feet. Her look was making him extremely uncomfortable. With effort, he forced out a much more audible "Thank you, Agent." before looking her in the eye. That same disconcerting look. A small frown had set itself on her lips, at this point. Dib couldn't take it. "What?" he blurted, immediate guilt following.

TunaGhost only smiled weakly. "Just be careful, Agent. You're never one to let your guard down, but this isn't like your fights with that alien boy you keep telling us about. Unlike him, this might actually be dangerous." she said.

Dib fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was nothing but an old decrepit house. That's what he was there to prove, that night. And we would prove it. He would prove that he was right about the house, he'd prove that it was nothing more than a heap of rotting wood from centuries ago, and he would prove that he was a true, adept paranormal investigator. He broke into a grin so wide that it made TunaGhost's small ghost of a smile disappear, an even more haunting look on her already worried face. "Mothman..." she started. At this, his grin only grew wider and, with one or two more reassurances of his ability, he was able to convince her to take a safe drive back to her apartment. He watched as her small blue car disappeared back into the overgrowth of the driveway.

This left him alone in the dark shadow of the Mythe's house. The sidewalk was missing chunks, which caused him to have to hop from piece to piece. Along the way, he noticed a small pond on the side of the house that looked as if it had been filled with oil, the water was so black and filthy.

The porch was in no better condition than the front yard. When he put his weight on the first discolored wooden step, his foot broke through, lurching him forward. It was all he could do to catch himself on the steps in front of him - and he was lucky that those supported his weight better than the first step had. He wretched his foot from the splintered wooden enclosure, noticing a dull pain. Laughing inwardly, he realized that he hadn't been there for more than a few minutes and he'd already managed to sprain his ankle. He disregarded the nuisance. He'd been in worse condition, suffered more serious injuries before, and always kept on. Perseverance was a part of who he was.

He'd walk it off in time. He had to scout the whole house and set up his equipment, anyway. He reached the front door, searching for the skeleton key SkunkApe had included in the File. He reasoned that there were probably a lot of doors in the house. Who knew? The key might even unlock the Fifth Gate of Hell. He chuckled. What a ridiculous thought. This rickety old place having anything to do with Hell? According to what his pen pal told him, Satan lived in a suburban area with his wife and son, not some condemned, overgrowth-covered house in the middle of nowhere.

The key rattled in the lock for a moment before the mechanism finally clicked, allowing the door to swing open with the slightest touch. The door groaned against its hinges dutifully. Dib stopped mid step and gaped at the ancient floorboards just inside the threshold. Painted messily, as if someone had done it half-asleep, was a message to whoever stood on the other side of the door.

"ABANDON HOPE ALL WHO ENTER HERE."

Dib looked at the message for a moment before taking the key out of the lock and taking care to step on the painted floorboards as he entered the house, closing the door behind him.

The inside of the house, he noted, was no better than the outside. Tacky, floral printed wallpaper was peeling off the walls, the air was humid and stale and smelled strongly of cat urine, and everything that was still standing was covered with a visible layer of dust.

Dib set up the first camera and EVP recorder before he'd taken more than six steps into the house. He placed one of each in each room. In total, he'd set up thirteen units (provided by the Network.) before settling in the drawing room, no matter how uncomfortable, and taking out his logbook.

"Case: Mythe

Agent Mothman

21oo hours

Arrival uneventful. House is decrepit. Thirteen stations set up around designated area. The only oddity found thus far is a crudely painted warning to those who enter the house. Suspected to be the work of troublesome local teenagers."

With this, he closed the book and set it on the cushion of the chair he'd previously been sitting on. If he was going to be confined to the property all night, there was no sense in sitting around the whole time. Despite the residence being completely unkempt, it was full of interesting baubles and antiques.

He froze. Every muscle in his body became rigid as he stained his ears to hear the faintest sound - what he had thought were footsteps coming from above his head, on the second floor. They diminished into non existence. Dib's muscles slowly relaxed. Whatever it was, was gone. It didn't matter. If there had been anything, it would have been recorded on the EVP. The anxious feeling in his chest disappeared faster than the footsteps had as he realized that he was letting the ghost stories get to him. Judging from the condition of the house, there was a good chance that whatever had been up there had been an animal... Judging from the smell in the house, a cat.

The boy shook his head and sat down to write in his log. He mentally scorned himself for not bringing something to keep his entertainment... His book, or maybe even the transmission transcripts he'd pulled form Zim's computer while he wasn't looking. But no. He had the log.

"What are you doing in my drawing room?"


	3. Chapter 3

Dib grabbed his log and made for the door. Perhaps it was time for some fresh air... or, at the very least, the backyard. On the way down, he checked each and every station that he passed to make sure that they were all still running. And sure enough, everything checked out.

Once he located the back door, he found that it was jammed tightly shut. He took a running start and battered the door open with his shoulder, falling headlong into the long grass that was threatening to invade the house. Dib looked up at the man who's feet he'd fallen at. He was tall and clean looking. "Another tenant?" Dib asked bitterly.

The man's composure was gloomy and cold. "Hardly," he sneered back, not offering to help as Dib hauled himself to his feet. "Nothing more than a memory, if you insist on knowing." he said curtly as he saw Dib open his mouth to speak. The man's coal black eyes bore into the boy's. "Care to take a walk? As if that wasn't what you intended to do out here in the first place." The man turned and walked off without Dib, who quickly followed.

"Who are you?" he asked, still wishing to push further into the matter.

The man didn't even bother to turn to look at Dib. "I don't know. Not that I suppose it matters, anymore. And you?" he asked, obviously eager to change the subject.

"Dib Membrane of the Swollen Eyeballs Network, studying paranormal phenomena. In this case, the house." he said, gesturing back to the building. Dib stepped over a large overgrown shrub that had grown out into the walkway. He hopped over it right foot first, his left foot getting snagged on the weed, bringing him to the pavement. He felt a hand grab the back of his coat. The man, being much older than Dib, was easily able to haul him to his feet. Even more so, drag him across the pavement.

"I can't tell you how many people have come to this house to test its legend," The man said, his voice close and frighteningly dark. "Each and every one of them have had the life ripped from their bodies."

He had hardly a second to realize what was happening before the man rammed Dib into the side of a crumbling concrete fountain, the water as polluted as the pond water in the front, the structure even deeper. He sputtered as the wind was knocked out of him, and he felt the man's other hand push down on the back of his head, forcing him forward, headfirst into the water. His eyes flew open as he gasped for breath, sucking in the black ice water. He struggled against the man's grip, pushing against the concrete he was able to get a grasp on, made slippery by the mold and algae that had grown underwater. He kicked out in hopes of forcing a release, but was unable to connect with the man's body. He felt himself slipping deeper and deeper into the fountain, the water clouding his vision.

He wished he'd gone blind. A mass of bubbles erupted into Dib's face as a figure floated up to him. As it neared, he saw three decaying digits, mangled and, at one time, he thought, probably bloody. But it was all too apparent that the blood had drained completely from this figure long ago. Following the fingers was an arm, half a torso, and the gaping, decaying face of the man who held him underwater. Dib tried to scream; all he was able to accomplish was to expel the water from his aching lungs. He tried to push himself back up, to fight back, but his limbs, protesting against the lack of oxygen, went limp and numb. His wild thrashing was nothing more than half-hearted flopping by now, and spots obscured his vision as he slipped out of consciousness, grateful for the fact that he could no longer see the decomposing, waterlogged human body that was threatening to entangle its half-eaten limbs with his own.

With a loud gasp, Dib shot up rather violently, feeling the soft, overgrown grass underneath his fingers. He grasped madly at the ground as he closed his eyes, trying to expel the image he'd been forced to endure. His body shook from shock, as opposed to inevitable hypothermia one would experience after being drenched to the waist, fully clothed, in the dead of night. However, Dib noticed that he was not drenched to the waist. He was, in fact, perfectly dry. Shakily, he stood, taking in his surroundings for the first time upon regaining his senses. He was standing in front of the house, just outside the door he'd broken down. On the other side of the small section of the yard that he stood in, there was a dainty concrete fountain that was almost completely green with algae. Without taking his eyes off of it, he slowly retreated back into the house.

He could go to the fountain, to make sure that what he'd experienced had just been a dream, or a hallucination. It was an option. But Dib backed into the house, not turning his back on the yard until he had turned a corner, leaving the floating mass of rotting flesh staring slack jawed at the pitch black night sky.

Dib found himself running through the house, franticly fighting the voices that were now encroaching on the edges of his thoughts. They simply repeated the same thing over and over. The surreal chanting of "It is far too late" was all he could hear. All of his equipment would be left in the house until tomorrow afternoon, when the agents were able to come back with him and collect it. He wasn't staying another moment in this house. Gate to Hell or not, there was something terrible about it - even the air had a sense of malevolence about it. The voices grew louder with every bounding step he took, the cacophony rising to a fortissimo as he reached the foyer.

In his rush, the boy's ankles locked together, sending him flying towards the front door. He thudded to the old wooden floor, his face merely inches from the painted floorboards. As the dust from the impact cleared, his stomach turned sour. For the first time, he was getting a good look at the message. Veronica's soiled nightgown flashed briefly through his mind as he realized that the chipping and peeling paint on the floor was a sick crimson-brown, like the color of blood left to dry. His heart rate nearly tripled as he scrambled to his feet. The demonic chanting had ceased, replaced by one haunting voice more terrible than the symphony of demon's he'd endured since his departure from the garden. It was crisp and clear in its message.

"You have sealed your fate. Death will not come quickly."

Dib's fingers fumbled at the knob on the front door as he desperately tried to escape the Sixth Gate of Hell. Nothing mattered anymore. Not the Network, not Zim, not his family; all that mattered to the young paranormal investigator was that he get out of the house. The door flew open.

A sudden cold came over his body as he looked out the front door. He swallowed hard and simply stared as the voice cackled with twisted laughter. Staring back at him from the other side of the door was an image of himself but, like everything else about the house, it was sick and twisted. Hallow black eye sockets gaped at him from behind mangled wire frame glasses. His shirt was torn to shreds on his body, exposing more of the green-grey flesh. The reflection lacked hands, and one side of its jaw was completely devoid of flesh.

Dib didn't speak, he didn't move, as the terrible laugh he'd been hearing all night issued from the monster's jaws. He knew, now. He'd been given a chance to run. He'd been scared out of his wits for his own benefit. And he'd blown it. He'd returned to the house. That was the fatal mistake; now, there was no way out. And yet, he felt strangely calm. Somehow, he'd known from the very moment he'd stepped foot in the house, that this was what would happen. He stepped back calmly from the mirror; in return, the monster stepped forward from the mirror, its legs bent back behind it.

The creature's voice was barely masked within his own as it spoke, its words, though horrible in their own way, didn't phase Dib. "They'll have to scrape you off the walls," it hissed. "That is, if they can even find your body." The thing took a few more menacing steps forward. "Welcome to Hell."

_Fin._


End file.
